Will I?
by Mondie
Summary: **FINISHED!** Extended songfic (the song is from the musical RENT) about the affect of Jack's leaving upon the Manhattan boys; mainly focuses on Skittery, Boots, Charlie (my own character), and Racetrack.
1. Un

Will I?

by Mondie

**Disclaimer** … Disney owns Skittery, Jack Kelly, Boots, the Delancey brothers, Racetrack, and Bumlets. I own Charlie. He's from Growth and I love him muchly.

_Author's Note_ … I'm thinking this will be a short fic. Four chapters, maybe. Each will focus on the same four boys. … If you haven't heard the song "Will I?" from the musical _Rent_, go download it right now. It's beautiful. I wanted its somber mood to set my fic… and it's a round, which is why I restate the lyrics over and over. **Mondie huggles song** 

Chapter 1

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Skittery sighed as he gripped thirty papers. He'd been on the street, on his usual corner, for three hours already. The heat was beginning to surge, and sweat dripped down his spine, soaking his shirt. His skin itched where the perspiration had traced its web.

            He thought back to just weeks before, when his customers had been plenty and he'd been through selling within half an hour. But nowadays, smiles were hard to come by, and people just didn't want to buy newspapers from scowling newsboys. Sales had been down all over Manhattan.

            Skittery shifted the heavy papers to one arm, and swiped his forehead with the other. Tears of frustration sprung to his eyes, and he stared dismally around him. Fifteen cents wasted on these papers no one would ever read, and fifteen cents of profits gone as well. If he wanted to be able to sell tomorrow, he'd have to skip his dinner.

            Things had been different before. Back when Jack had been here. Back before his ridiculous obsession with Santa Fe had turned into a permanent dream… back before he'd moved there to stay. Since then, they'd gone down.

            Skittery shuffled his feet and sighed loudly. Clearing his throat, he tried to yell out headlines again. Only selling two papers in the next fifteen minutes, he finally accepted defeat.

            "Heya, Boots," he said, noticing a smaller newsie leaning up against a building. "Looks like I'll be sleepin' on da streets tanight."

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

_            Boots nodded. "Me too, Skitts," he agreed. He gestured to a pile of papers twenty thick beside him. "Gawd, wha's goin' on? Why's can't I sell nuttin'?"_

            Skittery shrugged and stalked away. Boots shoved himself off the wall and grabbed his papers. Just because he couldn't sell them didn't mean he wanted the tightwads who wouldn't buy to snatch them up for free.

            Wandering through Manhattan, he half-heartedly called out headlines. "Baby born ta da Mayah, den snatched up t'ree days latah," he tried. A gentleman walking by in a pinstripe suit raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and Boots couldn't blame him. Even _he knew how lame and beyond belief the made-up story was._

            His stomach began rumbling with hunger, and he stared at a store window bursting with vegetables. He'd always made it a rule with himself not to steal. _But that was befoah Cowboy left us all, he reminded himself. He sighed. It looked so good… and he was so hungry…_

            Before he knew what he was doing, almost, he was inside the shop and helping himself to carrots and tomatoes. The store owner was busy with a rich lady and her fat child, who was fussing for the penny candy in a display case. Boots grabbed a cucumber and bit into it, savoring the crispness and cool taste that filled his mouth. He was debating whether or not to risk a head of lettuce, when he realized it had suddenly gotten quiet. The brat and her mother had left, and a very angry store owner was standing next to him, tapping an impatient foot.

            Fifteen minutes later, Boots was riding through the city in a coach. He hung his head in shame as it paused in front of a pair of heavy metal gates. The Refuge.

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Charlie had to stop for a minute on his running path, because a carriage was going into the Refuge. He tried vainly to see inside, because he was friends with the Manhattan newsies, and wondered if it was anyone he knew. He was a runner between Queens and Manhattan; Queens being his home. He actually hadn't been in Manhattan since he'd run to Queens to tell them the news of Jack's leaving for Santa Fe. Now he was a bit worried about his Manhattan friends, and how they'd taken the departure. It was impossible to see inside the coach, even though he stood on his tiptoes and squinted.

            When the gates had clanged shut behind the carriage, he shrugged and took off running again, his white-blond hair blowing back from his face, though the air was vapid and windless. He decided to head to the Lodging House and wait out the afternoon until the return of the newsies at nightfall.

            He rounded the corner and smiled as he saw the familiar building move into sight. He slowed his pace a little, and was running past the last alley when—

            A leg shot out, followed by a grinning face. The foot, clad in dusty boots, kicked into Charlie's kneecap. With a yell, he was pitched forward. He lost consciousness as the boy picked him up and aimed punches at his limp, scraggly body.

            Oscar Delancey laughed a little and, after a while, threw the boy behind him into the alley. He turned to his brother, who was still sitting back a little ways on a crate. He usually didn't like to get involved in the fights, something Oscar continually made fun of him for. This time though, Oscar didn't really seem to mind. He let out a chortle as he said, "Now that Cowboy's gone, I'se got so much free time on me hands I don' know what ta do wit' it all…"

            Racetrack heard the Delanceys laughing in an alley, and quickly crossed to the other side of the street for the rest of the twenty-foot walk to the Lodging House, crossing back over when he figured he was out of their view. They were always up to no good. But now, without Jack to harness them…

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Racetrack fell, defeated, onto his bunk. He was so tired. He didn't know why he felt this way, but it was constant now. He fingered the weird lump he'd just found the other day, positioned on his neck. He'd never felt it before then, but it was still there now. He tried to decide whether it was his imagination or whether it had really grown bigger since that morning. He fell into a deep but uneasy sleep.

            When he awoke, it was evening, and the bunkroom was swarming with newsboys, crawling over the bunks and each other, fighting, laughing, telling stories. Usually Racetrack was the center of attention at this time of the day. His stories of his day at the track were always exciting (and, if the day had been boring, his fictional tales of his day at the track were even more entertaining). He was shivering now.

            "Can ya close da windah?" he shouted out, his voice carrying across the bunkroom. He got shouts back along the lines of "yeah right ya bum, shaddap, it's boilin' in heah."

            His teeth began to chatter as if he were encased in ice. He folded his arms across his chest and drew his legs up in the fetal position, trying to bring heat to his body.

            Bumlets headed out of the washroom whistling, but stopped short when he came to Racetrack's bunk. "Race? Ya okay?" he asked. Racetrack's lips had gone blue.

            "Yeah, Bumlets, I'se a'right," Race answered. "Jus' go on ta bed."

            Race couldn't even get out of bed the next morning. He was shivering under his thin sheet, and continued to even after ten other newsies had given him their sheets, too. His eyes were glazed over, and no one was even sure that he knew they were there.

            But with no money for a doctor, what was there to do? The boys still had to sell to get money. They left Race under his eleven sheets and went out the door.


	2. Deux

**misprint** *~* Awww, do you realize that in your last review was the birth of "jeex"? How fun! LOL. Racey doesn't die… at least not yet. I haven't actually figured out where I'm going with this. At all. When you read Charlie's part… I don't even know where that came from. I wasn't planning for the guy that comes in to be there at all. I just wrote it down and then I was like… HEY! That could work! …I love being weird.

**rumor** *~* No smacking Boots! I heart Boots. He has a square head. ^_^ Hoo ha! He really does, it makes Kimi and I laugh. Kimi draws newsies all over my French book and Boots has a square head. HAHA! Thanks for the review. :D

**Crunch** *~* Thanks so much!!!! Yeah, poor liddle newsies… **Mondie hugs all newsies that are down on their luck** Out-of-the-blue Question: WHY isn't "newsies" in my spell-checker dictionary? It definitely SHOULD be… I think I must go have a talk with the compie people over at Microsoft.

**Shortie** *~* YAY FOR RENT/NEWSIES FANS! So many of us… it's wonderful! I'm just sticking with the "Will I?" song for all the chappies, don't ask me why cuz it's gonna get all redundant but I really don't mind. It makes ME happy, at least. Heh! Yay for "Santa Fe"! I read a really good newsies fanfic that tied the songs together… if you wrote that, slap me upside the head and color me stupid, because I can't remember right now who wrote it but it was so good… Hmmm. Ah well. If you *didn't* write it, you should read it. Ha!

**Keza: Queen of Procrastination** *~* Don't worry, I enjoy restating the plot as well. And poor starving Boots… poor can't-sell-worth-crap Skitts… poor beat up Charlie… or as I call him, Chahlie… poor freezing Racey… Yeah, usually I'm not a Jackie Boy fan (well, I love Jack as much as I love any other newsie ((except Snipes and Jake, who I hate)), but he's not on my top list like, say, MUSH) and so I wouldn't have Manhattan falling to pieces without him. But I wanted to this time. Yeah. Thanks for the compliments!

**kimimay85** *~* YAY FOR HOME IMPROVEMENT! YAY FOR JTT! YAY FOR CRUISING WEARING BAND GEAR! … ::ahem:: Never mind. Don't you always want a Snickers bar? Sick, guess what? I definitely have an ecology paper (five pages) due Tuesday. I haven't even started… and I work tomorrow and Monday… HEH… oh well, it's Mr. Rollins. I'm not that concerned. I definitely wrote Aladdin in this chappy! My favey-davey Refuge child!! WOOHOO! LOL.

**Raider** *~* It's supposed to be sad!! LOL! I'm on this "must-write-depressing-stories" kick right now. Which explains the lacking of writing "Untouchables". That's too happy of a story for me to write right now. Yeah, I don't make sense… whatever. Thanks!

_Will I?_

by Mondie

Chapter 2

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            When Skittery awoke early the next morning, it was to the clomping of a horse's hooves. He opened an eye and watched the beautiful mare, brown with streaks of white, pulling past with a heavy cart. The man driving the cart seemed annoyed as he chirped to her to hurry up.

            Skittery understood the horse's ideas more. He felt lazy, too. The ground beneath his body was like ice, and his thin clothes, ideal for summer selling, hadn't helped much during the cold night. He wished he had had enough money to get a bunk in the Lodging House. Feeling sluggish, he moaned as he got to his feet. His eyelids felt heavy, and he forced himself to jump up and down a few times, to get his blood pumping through his veins. Dirt and dust clung to his face even more than usual, and he found that his palms had crescent-shaped marks in them from his fingernails, signaling that he'd been clenching his fists in his sleep.

            Stumbling slightly, he yawned as he headed for the distribution center. As long as the city was awake (and therefore him as well), he figured he should at least get a jump on everyone else and get a good place in line for his papers. He scowled as he wiped at his face after catching a glimpse of himself in a shop window.

            _Dere'd betteh be a good headline ta-day…_

            Thoughts of better days filled his head as he passed the Lodging House. As he passed the alley next to it, he heard soft groans. He knew that there was no reason to go and provoke a drunk who'd probably gotten into a bar fight with another dumbass, so he hurried past without even looking in.

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Boots let out a heavy sigh as he shifted on the paper-thin mattress. "Cheese it!" growled a boy of fifteen, large with dark eyes and named Spritz, who was sharing the bunk. A small boy, no older than six, named Aladdin, was curled up at the foot of their same bed.

            Boots had never been in the Refuge before; in some ways, he was glad it wasn't as horrible as Jack had pretended in his late-night scary stories. But in other ways, it was worse than Jack's horror tales.

            Jack wasn't black.

            The door to the small chamber burst open, and in strutted Mr. Snyder. Instantly the room came alive, as thirty bodies jumped from beds, standing stock-still at attention. Spritz nearly elbowed Boots out of the way, but didn't apologize. "Mornin', Mr. Snydeh," he said in a mock-serious tone. Mr. Snyder glared at him, but could find nothing wrong with the older boy to criticize. He let his fear-inducing eyes roam to Boots, who avoided his eyes by keeping his chin lowered.

            "Look at me, boy!" Snyder growled. Boots looked up.

            "Just what I thought. Worthless street rat! You're coming with me."

            Boots opened his mouth to protest, but realized it was futile. Snyder abandoned his inspection of the other boys, who breathed sighs of relief, and strode purposefully from the room. Boots moved out of line and morosely followed him.

            "See ya latah," Spritz laughed, and Boots looked back at him to stare daggers as the larger boy continued to shout at him, calling racial slurs. Knowing full well there was nothing else he could do, he lowered his head and followed Snyder from the room.

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

_            Charlie felt the groans escaping his lips, but that was about all he could feel. His whole body felt numb as he lay on the ground of the alley. He felt a familiar sensation in his throat, and before he could stop himself, he vomited up another mouthful of blood. His front was already soaked with crimson. His sleeve was soaked as well, but that was from a scratch which had bled for most of the night until the bitter air had made it freeze._

            Charlie looked down at his leg, and the sight made him gasp for breath. He forced his eyes upward again, and away from the broken leg. The bone had pierced the skin, and his pants leg was too a bloody mess.

            It hadn't all been from Oscar Delancey, of course.

            He closed his eyes against the acrid memory of the previous night, when he'd been yelling for help. He was well-aware of the fact that the lodging house was a mere twenty feet away, and thought if he shouted enough, someone would help him to his feet. He'd only been scratched then, and woozy. He knew that if he got to the lodging house and slept the night away, he'd be all right.

            Unfortunately, it wasn't Mush, or Blink, or Race, or California who came to see the origin of the shouts. It was Pirate.

            Pirate was the feared leader of Harlem. He wasn't quite as infamous as Spot Conlon, the leader of Brooklyn, but he wasn't someone a newsie wanted to run into, either.

            Distressing, too, was the fact that Charlie was certain that the only reason Pirate was in Manhattan was to take over. Everyone knew that he had hated Jack Kelly, but the fact that Jack and Spot were friends had kept Pirate from challenging him earlier. Now that Jack was gone, the leadership position was up in the air, and Pirate was most likely excited beyond belief to get a crack at it. Manhattan was an ideal spot. The heart of New York City.

            Pirate had laughed to see Charlie there. Most everyone knew Charlie was Queens' runner, because he'd run to nearly every borough of the city at some point or the other. It was too humiliating to let Pirate see him hurt like this, because everyone thought of Queens as a bit of a joke, anyhow.

            Pirate seemed to decide it would be too nice to let someone just wallow in misery, and instead decided to kick Charlie when he was down.

            Literally.

            Charlie wondered how things were going in the lodging house. What if Pirate had taken over after he'd left Charlie in the alley?

            Charlie felt the blood rising in his throat again.

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

_            Racetrack trembled. His fingers were like ice, but he was feeling better than the previous day. He had been so ill that he'd been completely oblivious to everything that had occurred in the past twenty-four hours, and now he opened his eyes and searched the bunkroom. It was still too early for Kloppman to wake everyone up, and most every other newsie was sleeping soundly in his bunk. Race smiled weakly as he looked at his friends. Blink, snoring up a storm. Mush, cradling his blanket and wearing an idiotic grin. Bumlets, thrashing about his bed as he often did in his pre-dawn dreams. And Skittery, his legs dangling out in the aisle._

            Racetrack realized that this last perception was wrong. It wasn't Skittery's lean legs jutting out from the bedframe.

            _Oh, God! he thought, sitting up to get a better look. He felt a sorrow lower in his stomach and had to gently make himself lie back down, but knew it wasn't all from the fact he was still ill. He knew that person. And his presence in the lodging house was __not a good sign._

            There was a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and before he could blink, Terrain stood beside him. The burly seventeen-year old raised an eyebrow. "Ya feelin' betteh?" he asked.

            Race ignored the question. "Wha' in hell is Pirate heah for?" he hissed.

            Terrain shook his head. "Ya don' wanna know, Race."

            "Ah, shit," Race said softly. Then he felt the coldness come again, and, shivering, drew his sheets up to his chin. "Shit…"


	3. Trois

**Shoutouts!**

**FictionHobbit** )( I'm taking it we're a Skitts fan? LOLOL! Yeah, Pirate is most def. NOT a nice character. He kinda framed Spotty in a roundabout way in Growth. Not that Spotty minded. Heh! But he's fun to write. I enjoy big oafs with no brains. Not even a half a' one.

**Raider** )( Ahh, the racism gets worse. And I *did* update Untouchables! Whoo whoo! Thanks dearie!

**The Omniscient Bookseller** )( Oui, depressing stories are GRAND fun! But – and this excites me greatly, btw – I was writing the last chappy of this today during school, and it doesn't turn out dappy! It's actually mappy! I'm so excited, it's sad. I'd post that one right now too, but I'm only halfway through Race's part. But hoooo ha!

**Keza: Queen of Procrastination** )( It was nice of you to hug the characters. Hehe! Yeah, I enjoyed the "Jack wasn't black" line also. It made me chuckle a bit, because then I pictured like an Eminem-esque Jack Kelly, wearing bling-bling and wifebeaters and a bandanna and screaming "Yo, g-dawgs!" at the top of his lungs. It amused me for quite some time. All Dogs Go To Heaven?? I used to love that movie… the little girl was so cute… and I loved how she said "Chahrhlie" all weird-like. She was way cool.

**Derby** )( Yeah, poor Charlie. :( I feel sorry for the guy, he always gets the worst parts in my fanfics. Perhaps next I will write a HAPPY story for Charlie. ((Unfortunately for most of my created characters, they just aren't much fun until bad stuff happens to them. **Mondie shrugs**)) Poor Blinky-182! You squirted his picture! He cried for about an hour after reading that review. It was depressingly sad.

**misprint** )( Have I mentioned lately that I love our run-on reviews? They make me greatly happy. HOO HA! ^_^ I'm glad you thought that Charlie was Mary Sue. That amused me almost as much as Jack Kelly in bling-bling ((read shoutout to Keza)) YAY! You found the newsie-in-the-movie-who-doesn't-have-a-newsie-name-but-Mondie-decided-he-looked-like-Disney's-Aladdin-and-named-him-Aladdin! WHOO WHOOOOO! I love Aladdin. I was astounded to find out that he is Gloria Estefan's son. That is truly odd. Yay, go pound Snyder for his racism. Lord knows he needs it. But just you wait till next chapter… ooh, just you wait! **Mondie rubs hands together and cackles** Shade, you mustn't strangle Mis. **Mondie shakes finger condescendingly** YAY YAY YAY, I love it when Mush is cradling his blanket! I totally fashioned that off the beginning of the movie, even though he's not cradling his blanket in it. I just thought he could be dreaming about holding a Mondie in his arms. **Mondie shrugs** Thanks for the wonderful review, Mis!!!

**Shortie** )( WOOOOOOOW! Thanks! **Mondie flushes and looks embarrassed, for the, oh, second time in her life** I KNOW! What is UP with the lack of Newsies love in the universe? How can people never have heard of it?!?! I don't understand. Sorry for forgetting you're the one that wrote Santa Fe… I read so many friggin stories I can't keep the authors straight in my head, LOL! But it WAS really good. I liked that one greatly. "La vie boheme" means "The Bohemian Life," kinda like in Moulin Rouge, ya know? I LOOOOOOOOOOOVE "La Vie Boheme," it's TOTALLY my favey-davey song in Rent. It's so much fun to sing!

**rumor** )( Good, don't smack Boots, Snyder does enough of that himself in this chappy. Yes, my nails are rather long also (quite a hindrance—good word, hindrance, I like it haha—for typing), and when I paint them, everyone's like, "Are those real?" like they don't believe they are. It's hard to convince them otherwise. ^_^ Your review was incredibly mappy and made me incredibly happy! I always love your reviews, rumor. :D :D :D Thanks!

**Crunch** )( GAWD, I *have* to read your Star Crossed Lovers… I think I've started reading it about three times, but I always have to go somewhere or the phone rings or it's time for school… blah. Slap me upside the head and color me procrastinator if I don't get to it soon. ANYHOW. Thanks for the sweet review!!!! :D Yayness!

Will I? Chapter 3

by Mondie

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Skittery stared around himself uneasily when he got to the gates of the Distribution Center. They were still closed and locked, as was customary when the newsies arrived, but one fact puzzled him beyond comparison—there were no other newsies around.

            Well, he countered himself, there were a couple of newsies around. Three or four, with grime thick on their faces like on his, which generally meant that they too had carried the banner the night before, snagging pavement for a restless bed. They looked confused, too, at the lack of their brethren. Truth be told, none of Skittery's friends were near the gate—at all. And they weren't in sight, either.

            He trekked backwards through his mind, making sure that when he'd crossed the sidewalk before the Lodging House, it had still been there, and not burnt to cinders or toppled over or collapsed in on itself. He assured himself that it had been intact. Where, then, he wondered, were his friends? No Bumlets, no Racetrack, no Mush, no Kid Blink, no Itey, no Specs, no Snoddy.

            He began to backtrack towards the Lodging House, giving up his spectacular front spot at the gate. He was more worried about his friends now then he was earning his day's money. He reflected he probably wouldn't sell much, anyways. Without Jack Kelly, most of the magic was gone.

            As he neared the Lodging House, he was stunned to find it looking still asleep. There was no movement in its windows, and in fact the shades were still drawn tight. The door was closed, filling the usually gaping mouth of the doorframe. Skittery scratched his head, and squinted at the building.

            Something on his right made him turn in alarm, until he remembered the noises he'd heard earlier that morning. The whimpering had increased, and it sounded more like a wounded puppy now then a drunk. Skittery decided that it might be safer to face whatever was in the alley than the thing plaguing the Lodging House.

            "Help…" the voice was saying softly, and Skittery frowned as he tried to decide whose voice it was. It sounded like a cross between Racetrack and Mush, and it wasn't until he saw the shock of blond-white hair that he placed it.

            "Chahlie?" he asked incredulously. "Whatcha doin' on da ground?"

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Boots stood, alone and quivering, against a wall. His bare body was glistening from sweat, which mixed with the blood pouring from his lacerations. The horsewhip, just as menacing slumped against the wall as it was in Snyder's hand, frightened him still. There was one other boy in the room, an older boy named Chocolate, whose skin was the same dark cocoa as Boots'. Ashamed that Chocolate had heard him crying out earlier, and embarrassed by his nakedness, Boots bowed his head and wouldn't look at the older prisoner.

            "You all righ', kid?" Chocolate had a deep bass voice, and it was filled with sorrow and bitterness. Boots didn't look up, but nodded from where he stood. Chocolate moved for the first time since Boots had entered the room, and the sound of scraping chains echoed, cutting through the silence. Boots looked up sharply at this, and realized that Chocolate was chained around the ankles to the wall. He wore only a pair of white cotton pants, and his chest had risen dark brown scars all across it. His eyes were hard and seething. Chocolate moved as close to Boots as he could, and, his eyes scorching, glared at the thick wooden door which barred them from escape. "What'dja do ta get heah?"

            Boots mumbled, "Stole some food." He didn't feel like going into it. He felt an anger rise inside of him towards Jack. If Jack hadn't left them… if Jack had still been here for them… if, if, if! In a flurry of disgust, he turned his head and spit in the dust around his feet. Then he looked up at Chocolate. "An' you?"

            Chocolate sighed. "Ah, I didn' do nuttin'. I was jus' in da wrong place at da wrong time. Dis kid, Francis Sullivan, 'e stole some stuff an' ran. I was wit' 'im, but I wasn' as fast as 'im. An' even though dey didn' have no ev'dence or nuttin', dey still decided dat I stole some stuff too an' threw me in heah."

            "Francis Sullivan?" Boots repeated. "Dat's Jack Kelly. He's kinda why I'm in heah too."

            "Da bum," Chocolate said, his eyes hardening even more so. "I been in heah foah five long yeahs."

            Boots felt anger rising in his throat. At that moment, had he been blessed with the opportunity and the means, he would have whipped Jack Kelly with Snyder's horsewhip within an inch of his life.

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Charlie was in such pain by the time Skittery found him that he couldn't feel it anymore. He didn't notice the tears running down his face, nor the aches of his burning cold fingers.

            Skittery rushed over when he figured out who it was. He tried to figure out what the easiest way to get Charlie to his feet would be. At first he tried clasping hands with Charlie and pulling upwards, but this only succeeded in reopening the wound on Charlie's arm so that they had to wait for the bitter wind to freeze it shut again. The amount of blood next to Charlie's frail frame frightened Skittery beyond what he thought possible. Next he tried to lift up Charlie from behind, clasping him under his armpits and forcing him upwards. But Charlie's limp frame just sagged in the middle, and he turned an unhealthy shade of white as he nearly lost consciousness. Skittery didn't want to pick him up so that he'd jar his leg, because, frankly, the bone jutting out from beneath the skin terrified him. Finally, he tore off his shirt and thin jacket and threw them over Charlie's shivering frame and ran to the Lodging House to get help.

            Charlie trembled. His eyes, more gray than green in the overcast lighting, gaped open as he stared blankly around him. He vaguely wondered where his friend was gone—though he couldn't remember exactly who had come to see him anymore—and the alley seemed to be closing in—and turning purple— He leaned back and let the blackness overcome him.

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Racetrack opened his eyes to see Pirate standing guard in the middle of the bunkroom. Though the sun was courageously trying to fight its battle—and losing spectacularly—to the fast-approaching late autumn winds, and was shining brightly in the cracks around the curtains, there were still slumbering newsies all around.

            He noticed Mush swaying to and fro on his bunk, apparently either drunk or thinking about some song, and realized that no one was sleeping. Then he noticed that the bunkroom door was closed.

            "Hey, Terrain," he said quietly. Terrain looked over from the next bunk, raising an eyebrow. "Why is ev'ryone still in heah an' not sellin'?"

            "Because," Terrain answered softly. "Pirate don' want none a' us ta sell ta'day. 'E says we gotsta loin how ta do t'ings _his way. Since he's da new leadah an' all."_

            Race sighed to himself. He realized, in the midst of it, that it was a rather loud sigh. So loud, in fact, that every newsie had to stifle laughs, bar Pirate, who turned his dark eyes to Race with a matching scowl. "Racetrack Higgins. I t'ought you was almos' dead."

            "Not quite yet, Pirate… Pirate," Race answered, unsure of Pirate's last name. There were a few titters scattered throughout the bunkroom, but they were silenced by a stare from the new leader.

            "Oh yeah? Ya wan' me ta help ya along?" Pirate asked, menacingly making a fist and punching his hand into the other.

            Racetrack sighed. "No, not really. I mean, I'se got so much ta live for. Like… uh… um… like that one t'ing… help me out heah, Mush."

            Mush stopped swaying and smiled. "Like … puppy dogs."

            "Yeah. Like puppy dogs." Racetrack suddenly realized what he'd said. "Waidda minute, Mush. I don' GOT a puppy dog."

            "Yeah, but dey're funny. Dey run all weihd, an' dey have waggy tails!"

            Race would have hit his head with his hand if he hadn't had a splitting headache. "Mush, you'se an idiot. But, Pirate, why da hell is you in my bunkroom anyway?"

            Pirate gave a barking laugh. "Ain'tcha hoid, Racey boy? I'se gonna be da new 'Hattan leadah." He smiled smugly.

            Racetrack rolled his eyes. "Not when I'm da leadah a' Man'attan, ya aren't."

            There were barely audible gasps all through the bunkroom, and Pirate looked like he'd just been slapped. "What'dja jus' say?" he asked, staring.

            "E's delirious, Pirate," said Kid Blink hastily.

            "No, I'se not!" Race said. Shakily, he climbed out of bed and onto the floor, wincing as his bare feet hit the floorboards which seemed made of ice. Too late, he realized that he was getting cold again, and knew that that meant he'd fall asleep shortly. But he had to get Pirate out of the Lodging House.

            Had to get Pirate out…

            Suddenly, Race slumped against the bedpost, a shade of green spreading across his face. Six Strings, who was in the bunk below him, reached out just in time to catch him. Race's head rolled back, and he began murmuring incoherently.

            Pirate laughed mercilessly. "T'row 'im outside," he commanded. No one moved. "I said, t'row 'im outside!" he screamed, the laughter cut short.

            Gulping breaths of air quickly, and blinking furiously, Six Strings and Terrain shuffled to the door, Race limply hanging between them. They knew they couldn't leave him outside, but didn't know how to appease Pirate.

            Soon the bunkroom door was unbarred, for Pirate had tied the door so Kloppman couldn't get in, but it wasn't a very sneaky knot. Still unsure about what they should do, Six Strings and Terrain stopped and looked at each other with painful eyes.

            But they didn't have the chance to deliberate.

            The door was practically knocked in, and Skittery rushed inside.


	4. Quatre

**Shoutouts** (Last time! Ain't it sad?? Haha)

**misprint** )( I meant the Newsie Aladdin was G.E.'s son. They said so in the "audio commentary" part of the DVD. Whoo whoo! I love Aladdin. Do you know that I never watched Doogie Howser? And now I kick myself everytime it's mentioned. I wish they would run re-runs of it on Nickelodeon or the Disney channel or something. Grrrrr. Haha, newsie drought… thank goodness there really ISN'T one of those! I would go insane. Mis Quote Worth Repeating: "Awwww! Our boys breeded and had a Charlie!" I nearly died laughing at that one. Hahahaha! No, let's not breed Mushy and Racey… we can breed Mushy with Mondie, and we can breed Racey with you, but let's not breed the two boys tageddah. Yeah, no knifing Racetrack. He would not appreciate that. **Mush crushes a pop can on his head** HOO HA! **Mondie giggles as she watches Skitts doing the hustle**

**FictionHobbit** )( LOL you crack me up!!! I really don't put in the lines about Skitts stripping to excite goils or anything… it just happens! I never realize I do it until you point it out! Haha. You crack me up! Thanks for the review!

**Cards** )( It's continued! :D LOL.

**Crunch** )( Hey, I started SCL! ((The credit goes to misprint, btw, for getting on my case to read it)) I'm proud of myself, haha! Thanks for the compliments hun!!! And I *will* read your story. **Mondie huffs and puffs away like the Little Engine That Could**

**Derby** )( Blinky-182 forgives you, since you gave him an Elmo band-aid. He's fascinated by it. **Everyone turns and looks at Blinky-182, who is staring with rapt attention at the Elmo band-aid fixated to his arm** It's kinda sad, actually. Bwahaha, it was all part of my evil plan to make you become addicted. I'm glad it worked. LOL!

**rumor** )( I went to a Halloween party last night as a medieval… person. Yeah. People kept telling me I looked like Juliet, though. Though I'm not particularly sure how they knew what Juliet looks like… :/ Anyhowz. That is a weird story about how you broke your leg. **Mondie gives rumor an odd look and mutters, "Weirdo" under her breath** Just joking! Haha. Rumor the Dominatrix! I like it. It has a nice ring to it. LOLOL! Yes, I enjoy Mush in this story… he's a bit of an idiot… I love him so much! **Mondie kisses Mushy Darling's nose**

**Raider** )( Ah, since this is the end, you'll soon find out what happens with Pirate… WHOO WHOO! Yayness.

**Keza: Queen of Procrastination** )( The acorn that hit the skylight? That was Mushy Banana Boy and Blinky-182. They're now snickering behind their hands. They thought it was a good joke. **Mondie whispers, "Don't let them know that it wasn't a good joke at all. They think they're incredibly witty for coming up with that one."** Yes, Chocolate was in Growth too. He became a Vaudeville star with Six Strings in that story. That made me happy. ^_^ Sorry, can't let you in on the recipe—it's been in the family for generations. LOL!

**kimimay85** )( I was dressed! Whoo whoo! And we had good fun picking out the wallets at Wal-Mart. Even though I still think you should've gotten the kitty one. But it's a good thing you didn't get the cherry one, cuz then I would've thought of **shudder** Lexie every time you used it. Sick. And then my cousin sewed her finger… HAHA! We always have such fun on our adventures about the town!! LOL.

**Shortie** )( I sing along as well! LOL. I'm a dork like that. Yeah, I agree, the amount of Newsies die-hard fans is actually quite amazing. :D **Mondie nods** The world without Rent would be a sad, sad, sad world indeed. Props to Court Jester, she's the one who got me hooked on Rent with her Newsies/Rent crossover. :D Thanks for the review hun!!!

**A/N: So here it is, kids. The end. La fini. Kinda sad, eh? Okay, not really. Whatever. Thanks for all the reviews and such!! And thanks to Misprint for yelling at me to update this all the time. Haha!! Now, everyone go read her and Shade's "Bloodflame" (formerly Total Eclipse of the Heart) because it's my favey-davey story on ff.net.**

Will I? Chapter 4

by Mondie

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Skittery burst through the door, running straight into Terrain, Six Strings, and Race. As the four toppled into a heap on the floor, Race was able to come out of his "coldness." Skittery sorted himself out of the jumbled pile and frenetically and methodically ran his eyes along the bunks, searching the faces for someone he didn't seem to be finding.

            "…Skitts?" asked Kid Blink, exchanging confused glances with Mush. "Wha' da hell is ya doin'? Wheah was you las' night?"

            Skittery's eyes were wild and bloodshot as they continued their frenzied search. "Wheah's … Jack…" he trailed off. Suddenly, his face lost its luster. "Shit, 'e's gone," he realized, a bit in shock. "But Jack…" His brain seemed unable to function with this sudden realization, and whatever composure he had left crumbled. His eyes teared up. "Dammit, Jack's da one dat kin fix anyt'ing. Even…" Again, he seemed unable to finish.

            "Skitts, what in hell is you ramblin' about?" Six Strings demanded. He was secretly glad for the diversion, because the longer Skittery looked confused and as startled as a rabbit hearing a gunshot, the longer they could keep Race in the bunkroom. Racetrack was still lying on the floor, though Six Strings and Terrain had stood. And he didn't look like he'd be getting to his feet again soon.

            Skittery closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. "I need help," he said finally. "Chahlie… 'e's been soaked. Real bad."

            "Chahlie?" everyone repeated, flabbergasted. Charlie never got hurt.

            Pirate looked disgustingly proud. "Yeah, so maybe da bum needed it."

            A stunned silence filled the room, and Terrain angrily turned to Skittery. "I'll help ya. Wheah is 'e at?"

            Pirate walked across the room angrily and stood before the door, crossing his arms over his thick chest threateningly. "Anyone who leaves dis room kin find a new home. Ya heah me? Ya won' be a pardda 'Hattan no mores."

            Without a word, every newsie stood up and raced for the door, knocking Pirate out of the way.

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Boots shivered, leaning against the barren stone wall. He only remained standing because the whipped skin on the back of his thighs hurt too much if he squatted down or sat. Chocolate was sitting, leaning against the adjacent wall, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. He hadn't spoken to Boots in nearly fifteen minutes. Boots wondered for a moment if he had gone to sleep, and wondered how such a feat could be performed. But then the door opened, and, quick as a cat, Chocolate leapt to his feet.

            Boots hoped fervently that it was a meal. The cucumber had definitely not quenched his hunger at all the day before, and he hadn't eaten since, which just added onto the growing hunger from the previous days. His stomach had given up on rumbling now, and it was just a twisting hurt inside Boots.

            Instead of food, a stocky frame filled the doorframe. His white, buzzed hair seemed even more of a menacing characteristic than usual. He held a pair of shackles and a thick chain which rivaled Chocolate's in his hand, and he turned to Boots with a malicious grin.

            "No."

            Chocolate's deep voice cut through the pounding silence, and exploded into Boots' head, filling him with gratitude.

            Snyder, however, looked outraged, and dropped the chains to the floor. He reached over and grabbed the horsewhip. Though the room was devoid of furniture, Boots wished he could have found a hiding place for the whip. He gritted his teeth and braced his muscles, pulling them taut so that the sting wouldn't bite quite as much.

            Snyder had other plans.

            "Never tell me what to do," he growled, his eyes wide and outraged. He raised his arm and there was a loud crack as it snapped tight against Chocolate's skin.

            Boots couldn't stand it as he heard Chocolate's grunt of suppressed pain. He quickly moved forward and tightened his small hands around Snyder's throat. Chocolate saw his opportunity and too moved, wrapping his long, skeletal fingers around Boots'. Snyder's face turned red as he struggled to breathe, and it was all the two could do to keep him from escaping as he thrashed about. Soon, however, he passed out, and Boots used the keys dangling from his pocket to unlock Chocolate's ankles.

            He closed his eyes and felt a clang of forgiveness as he remembered where he had first learned how to do such a feat. It had all happened to Snyder before, and had been recounted in one of many bedtime tales from a Cowboy.

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

_            Charlie groaned piteously, and struggled to open his eyes. There were blurred figures surrounding his body, and he realized he was being jostled with stiff, jerky motions. His eyes closed laboriously. His voice was slow and thick in his throat as he tried to protest, and didn't even come out as anything more than a puff of air. He heard a faint, faraway voice saying, "I t'ink we's too late, Snoddy. 'E's gone." Other voices echoed in the affirmative, and Charlie struggled. He knew he wasn't gone! …Was he?_

            "'Ey, look!" said a voice that he recognized as Rudolph, sounding much closer. "I t'ink e's still heah, fellas…"

            Charlie groaned and opened his eyes again. The figures weren't quite so blurry anymore… in fact, he now recognized Six Strings, Snoddy, and Rudolph, the three carrying him.

            "We need ta get 'im ta warmth," spoke up a fourth newsie – Terrain. He was carrying Charlie's shoulders, and was supporting nearly all the weight of the incapacitated Queens runner.

            "Yeah, but Pirate…" Skittery, walking along beside them, fell silent.

            "Whaddabou' Pirate?" called a familiar voice. The boys, who had come to a halt before the Lodging House, turned in unison. Even Charlie struggled to see the new invader.

            Boots and Chocolate, both now fully clothed after stealing clothes from Snyder's personal closet, sat jauntily upon a nearby banister. Boots was dressed in a starched pinstriped suit that had just been delivered from the tailor's, which he figured would infuriate Snyder all the more. Though it was too large in every aspect next to Boots' short, skinny frame, his smile made all the difference.

            Charlie let out a short, hacking laugh. "Ya look like a liddle kid," he rasped.

            The newsies gathered around him began to laugh and slapped him, who grunted, only half-seriously. Amazing, the medicine of laughter.

_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

            Racetrack found himself lying on the ground next to Charlie. He remembered vaguely being carried, jostled, down the Lodging House stairs. There were newsies laughing and joking all around him, and it seemed the coldness was gone. He hoped it wouldn't come back.

            "Whadda we need?" Skittery yelled. The bitter wind rushed through his hair, rifling it, and caused the loose material of his pink undershirt to flutter. Yet his cheeks were flushed, and he wore a determined look.

            "A leadah!" Boots yelled back. He was eating a cinnamon bun.

            "An' who's it gonna be?" yelled Skittery.

            Everyone fell silent, staring at him. He interpreted the stares. "No, not me!" he said, sounding shocked. "I jus' yell da stuff out, I'm no leadah."

            Race gritted his teeth and climbed to his feet. "I'll be da leadah," he said, pulling his cigar out of his pocket and chomping down on it.

            "Race, you's sick," said Mush quietly.

            "Yeah, but I ain't about ta let Man'attan ta get taken oveh by a cheesehead like Pirate," he scoffed. "Now, who's wit' me?"

            Everyone still seemed a bit wary of his strength, but agreed they needed their Lodging House and territory back. Race let out a battle cry and charged up the stairs, his friends at his side and running along with him.

            Pirate sat smugly on a bunk. "I knew ya'd come back," he scoffed, looking self-righteous.

            "Yeah, we'ah back," Race snorted. "Back ta kick YOU out." He felt a wave of the coldness come to him again, but wouldn't let it overtake him. "Get yer ass outta Man'attan, Pirate."

            "Oh, an' who's gonna make me?" Pirate asked, climbing off the bunk and walking over. He was a good head taller than Racetrack, and had muscles that would send a Brooklyn thug running. But Race stood his ground.

            "Go on back, ya bum," he said. "We don' wantcha heah. Leave 'Hattan fereveh, an' jus' let us be."

            Pirate let out a laugh. "Not wit'out a fight, liddle man," he threatened, then leaned back and threw a punch.

            Racetrack ducked, and Pirate went flying forward, landing on the ground. The newsies all began to laugh hysterically. Race jumped on his back and, feeling a bit like a circus performer, began to put on a show with the flailing Pirate. The newsies clapped and laughed as he bit Pirate, and hit him, and put him in a headlock, and various other tricks which didn't hurt Pirate much at all, other than his pride.

            Pirate finally succeeded in flinging Racetrack off his back, and Race fell a few feet away. Instantly, twenty newsies were at Pirate's throat, pummeling him. Bleeding, he finally gave up and staggered for the door, hardly able to stumble down the stairs and out of the Lodging House.

            "We did it," Race gasped, a bit out of breath from his masquerade. "An' wit'out Jack."

            "So da magic ain't gone aftah all," Skittery mused.

            "Ain't it weihd dat we kin still get along, even aftah we depended on 'im fer so long?" wondered Boots.

            "Hey, fellas?" Mush said, picking himself off the ground and brushing dust from his trousers. Everyone looked over, and he grinned hopefully. "Kin we get a puppy dog?"

            Everyone groaned and began punching him jokingly. "Mush, you'se an idiot," Race said sentimentally.

            "Hey, fellas?" Mush asked again, as everyone began to clean up what had been messed up during the brawl. He was met with groans. He shrugged them off. "We's always gonna be bruddahs, right?"

            "Right," said Skittery.

            "Right," echoed Boots.

            "Right," said Charlie, who'd just appeared in the doorway with Kloppman, who had been bandaging his leg in a homemade splint.

            "Right," Racetrack replied.

_Will I?_


End file.
